


Purple Hearts

by ernyx



Category: MCU, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Black Panther (2018) Spoilers, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Genius Shuri (Marvel), Healing, Illnesses, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Queen Ramonda is here to tease her children, Sam Wilson is a Gift, Shuri is cute as heck (as usual), Star Wars References, T'Challa doesn't know what to make of Sam yet, T'Challa makes my heart sing, and Sam's father, and what Wakanda is like, basically there's talk about Shuri's tech, of King T'Chaka
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-03-22 12:49:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13764534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ernyx/pseuds/ernyx
Summary: In his defense, Sam hadn't known that T'Challa was a prince --now a king?--  when he'd asked the guy if he liked cats. Months later, on the run from his own government and in the safe harbor of Wakanda, he gets to know what kind of a man the Black Panther really is.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> for once, a fic that's not crossposted from my tumblr? amazing! here's my first time writing sam/t'challa, I hope I've done them some sort of justice. also I'm completely in awe of the fact that I'm posting a WIP. this never happens. I hope I get to update soon! this is also unbeta'd as always and part of it were written at 3am, so if you spot errors, please let me know. also also the rating may change over time, just fyi! // this fic is written for @falcondiment on tumblr, who wanted either m'baku/t'challa or sam/t'challa. I may tackle the former pairing at a later date if I can get a decent enough voice for m'baku, but for now this will have to do!

     In his defense, Sam hadn't known that T'Challa was a prince --now a **king**?--  when he'd asked the guy if he liked cats.

     He hadn't known much of anything, aside from the fact that this man was trying to hunt down the same person that Steve was trying to save. Well, that and the fact that --with the cat suit off-- the man was gorgeous. Actually, scratch that. The suit was attractive too, just highly unusual. Steve had implied that it was made of vibranium, but that would make it not only extremely expensive, but Sam couldn't even wrap his head around the mechanics of taking the strongest metal in the world and turning it into thread somehow to weave a fabric from it. Besides, wouldn't that be extremely uncomfortable? Still looked damn good though.

     Over the course of the next few hours, he doesn't see much of the royal. They're on opposite sides of the playing field, with very different sets of privileges. Sam has no idea how closely this reflects their own sets of cultures: T'Challa on his vibranium throne at the top of a secret but highly advanced society while Sam knew that only fifteen years before he'd been born, the US was still trying to decide the best way to desegregate the military, and black people still only earned 65-75% of what white people did in the present day. Their lives were very literally a world apart.

     During the fight, T'Challa is mostly kept occupied by Steve and Bucky. Now that Sam knows  _why_ he's fighting, he understands, but that doesn't mean he wouldn't go all out against him. Afterwards.... well, he's sent to prison. He's pretty sure that he did the right thing.

* * *

 

     When Steve rescues Sam from prison and the ex-pararescuer finds out that Mr.-no-longer-Captain-America and T'Challa are suddenly friends, he just blinks twice and nods. His life is full of curveballs, and anything associated with one Steve Rogers tends to be something you just acknowledge and deal with. What surprises him more perhaps is the offer from the new king to stay with Bucky, hidden away in Wakanda. But then people have always found Sam trustworthy. He accepts gratefully, after letting his siblings know that he's alive, and flies out to Africa for the first time in his life.

     He starts off relegated to a farm area. Bucky is in cryo somewhere near the palace, where Sam doesn't yet have permission to go, but he learns from the people around him: language, culture, habits and ways of survival that were stripped of his ancestors when they were kidnapped and brought to the United States as slaves. There's something strangely fulfilling about returning to his roots, something almost magical in helping these people work the land and graze cattle. Wherever they roam, people tell him about how great a king T'Challa is, and while they have little interaction, it makes Sam proud of the man. Clearly, he's doing something right, and Sam approves wholeheartedly. It's a far cry from what's going on in D.C. and he's glad of it.

     Sam has gotten well settled into life here when the bomb drops-- metaphorically, of course. In reality, Sam just gets sick. It's a debilitating illness, one that takes him straight off his feet the first day, leaving him weak and shivery, and then gets progressively worse in the next two, rendering him completely immobile by the third day. Worried friends rush him to the hospital, but the local one can do little for him at the moment. There's a tense call with security in the Wakandan capital, and T'Challa overhears and interrupts that if there's a _guest_ that he has the power to save, there's no way that he won't. Sam is brought into the royal lab, very nearly comatose.

     The next day is a blur for him, as unconsciousness gives way to vivid colors and hallucinations, which then settle into strange geometric structures. He's never seen anything like it, and blinks tiredly at the IV drip going into his arm and the bowl full of beads next to him that are swimming in some sort of viscous fluid. He stumbles upright, grabbing the stand to stabilize himself, when Shuri comes bustling around the corner.

     "I would not do that," she says matter-of-factly with a smile. "You will fall and hit your head and undo all my hard work. Do you know how hard it was to create these beads that would go into your system and retrieve the poison from your body?" She says it in such an easy tone that Sam really has no idea. "Actually, I should thank you. This is some of my best work. It still needs to be fine-tuned of course, but..."

     She's interrupted by a call from her brother, and his face pops up over her bracelet. "Is he awake?"  
     "Yes, just got up. He'll need a little more rest."  
     "Good. I'll come by." He hangs up and she shrugs.

     "Well, there you go. The royal treatment. Really though, please don't get up yet."

     Sam blinks a little owlishly at her, then smiles. She reminds him a little of his own sister, bubbly and bright, and he nods in acknowledgement. It takes a couple tries to clear his throat and speak, but he's relieved to find that it's no longer swollen and sore, allowing him to speak freely once again.

     "Could I get the name of the person who saved me then?"  
     "Shuri. I'm basically the one who runs this place." She gestures to everything. "Wakanda basically runs on my tech."  
     "Modest too," T'Challa says as he walks in, and she laughs. He turns to their patient. "I'm glad to see you recovering, Sam Wilson."

     The ex-paratrooper stares at him for a moment. Had this man always been so damn attractive? Ridiculous, honestly. He shakes his head, both to clear it and as a reply.

     "Wanna tell me where I am? Last we heard, Wakanda was primarily farmland, but this place is decked out to the nines."

     T'Challa is unused to Sam's manner of speech, but manages to respond with easy familiarity. "Welcome to the capital. The cat is out of the bag, so to speak.  _This_ is what Wakanda is really like." He motions outside to the high-speed rail, the skyscrapers done up in far more cylindrical designs than their western counterparts, and smiles fondly at it. "This is my home, and yours too for now. You will, of course, have to keep quiet about it to the rest of the world. I'd hate to have to shut your mouth myself."

     "Is that a threat or a promise?"

     The words are out before Sam can even process that he's said them, and he looks very much like he'd like to clap his hands over his mouth now. Shuri positively  _cackles_ in the corner while T'Challa stares at him unreadably before sighing.

     "Dinner is in a few hours. Rest until then." And with that, the king disappears.  
     "Please,  _please_ never leave us. You are the best entertainment the palace has seen since T'Challa stumbled over his words with Nakia all the time," Shuri adds, and follows him out, leaving Sam bewildered.

     Slowly, he eases back onto the bed, stewing in his embarrassment, and tries to get some more rest before he has to face them again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow this chapter turned into an All About Shuri special and I regret nothing.

     Whatever else Sam Wilson might be in life, he is first and foremost a ridiculously loyal person. Second, though, comes his intense curiosity about _everything_. Once he’s lain on the treatment bed for another couple hours and bored himself with what seems to be the appropriate amount of rest that his body needs, he gets up to wander around the lab. He cocks his head to one side at the necklaces on display (completely unaware that they become the Black Panther’s suit), boggles at the high speed rail system that defies gravity, and reaches out to touch a pretty set of nsibidi etched listening devices.

     In his defense, they look like plastic coins.

     Also in his defense, he has no idea how well Shuri protects her lab. Just as he’s about to make contact with them, a hologram of her face pops up right in front of him, making him yelp like a little kid and jump a full foot backwards.

     “ **Do not touch those, Mister Sam!** Those are not your toys!”

     “Didn’t mean offense, Princess Shuri,” he murmurs, attempting to be at least halfway courteous to the woman who just saved his life. Well… _woman_ is pushing it. She's still a relatively young teen. Apparently she thinks plenty like him though, because her reply is immediate.

     “Dispense with the royalnonsense. You are a guest and a friend. Just don’t touch my stuff.”  
     “Sure thing, Leia,” he snaps back with a smile, motioning to the two buns on her head.  
     “Ooooh, I do like you. Wait a moment, I’ll come get you. We can take a walk before dinner to appease your inquisitive brain.”  
     “Has anyone ever told you that you use really big words for a twelve-year-old, sis?”  
     “I’m sixteen! Besides, most people think that my precociousness is charming.”  
     “Shuri, that is a lie,” interrupts the voice of her mother in the background, and the darling girl lets out a little “eep!” of surprise. 

     The hologram disappears, leaving Sam shaking his head. Shuri reminds him so much of Sarah when she was little that all his big brother instincts come racing back, and he can’t help but hope that Queen Ramonda isn’t too annoyed with the little genius for… well, for whatever it was that she’s done this time. He doesn’t have to wait long for Shuri to reappear though. Within a few minutes, a slightly more contrite looking girl informs Sam that dinner will be in half an hour, and that she’s been allowed to collect him on strict instruction that she brings him "from Point A to Point B with no detours” (finger-quotes included).

     “Apparently I’m a distraction and a bad influence and liable to get you in trouble,” she says calmly, completely unbothered by this criticism. “Try not to get lost before I get to you.” Sam just laughs and nods, and Shuri disappears once again.

     In the few minutes while he’s waiting for the girl to show up, he continues looking around, this time carefully keeping his hands to himself. He likes to think that maybe his restraint will be rewarded, and he’ll have a chance to learn more about these things. The one invention that catches his eye the most is a set of bracelets with a golden wing design embroidered into it. It looks strangely out of place here, more ornate and delicate than anything else in the lab, and he stares at it with a sense of near nostalgia. It looks like the kind of needlework that his mother Darlene would have done, and the wing design makes him miss his own now-mangled flight pack. It was the last of its kind, as far as he knows, and now it is no more.

     It is while he is lost in thought, gazing at the bracelets, that Shuri approaches from behind. She moves soundlessly somehow, but instead of using this advantage to scare him like she might on any other day, she is curiously somber. Sam, ever the counselor at heart, looks at her with sympathy.

     “Are you alright? I didn’t get you in any trouble, did I?”

     She blinks a few times in confusion, then shakes her head. “Oh, no no, it’s not that. I was just thinking about this.” She motions back to the bracelets, and Sam’s brow creases. What’s so serious about this bit of jewelry? He’s about to voice the question when Shuri continues. “I made this after… when my brother was challenged by N’jadaka, he was thrown off a cliff during ceremonial combat. We thought him dead. I… I still dream of it sometimes.”

     It breaks Sam’s heart, hearing her like this, open and vulnerable. He wonders what kind of place Wakanda is to raise this girl to be so pure and honest, so willing to divulge even her deepest secrets to a relative stranger, and once again, he finds himself wishing he’d known a paradise like this in his own youth. He wants to give her a hug, to tell her that it’s okay now, but again, he doesn’t know how that would be received, and the last thing he wants to do is overstep his bounds in a place he’s just beginning to discover. Instead, he settles for speaking quietly.

     “I’m glad he survived. He makes a fine king, and I suspect he’s an excellent older brother.”

     It’s a good choice, because Shuri smiles instantly, her love for T’challa written all over her face. “He is an ass, but he’s amazing. Even then, somewhere in my heart of hearts, I thought that he had survived somehow, but… anyway, I started designing these then.”

     “Started? Does that mean you’re not done?”

     “Correct. Fine tuning is still in progress, though they are functional. As you might guess from the design, these are wing supports, designed to unfurl and let someone fly to safety when they are falling. Right now they glide perfectly, and they allow you to fly, but the maneuverability is lacking.”

     Sam beams at her. “Hey, if you want someone to test it out, let me know. I had wings on my back for a long time back in pararescue, and I’ve flown a few missions for Cap too. I bet anything you come up with would be more comfortable than that jetpack, no matter how much I loved it. Those wings were my babies, but I don’t miss the ache from hauling around a ton of metal on my back!” His excitement is palpable, and Shuri is about to respond in kind when a familiar voice interrupts. 

     “Shuri, you are supposed to be escorting our guest to dinner, not prattling away at him.” They whirl around to face T’Challa, who looks more amused than irritated at the delay. “Come, Sam Wilson, we are late for dinner. I may be the king, but even I do not keep my mother waiting.”

     Sam completely misses Shuri’s muttered “sorry brother” because he’s too busy processing the arm that has slipped into his. Is it to make sure he’s not going to fall over? Is it to make him keep pace with them so they’re not even more late than they already are? Either way, it’s a warm brand against his elbow, and it’s all he can do not to stiffen up uncomfortably. He’s being escorted personally— intimately— by the _king_ of Wakanda, and all he can think is that he doesn’t remember which fork you’re supposed to use first and he’s probably going to embarrass himself astronomically. Almost automatically, he seeks out Shuri with his gaze, but she only offers a smirk and a raised eyebrow, so he resigns himself to watching the workers of the palace do a double take at seeing him like this before saluting the royals hastily.

     “Uh, T’Challa, I don’t think I—“  
     The king cuts Sam off with a smile. “Don’t worry, I’ve already told my mother about you. You don’t need to worry.”  
     Sam sighs, dragging his free hand down his face. “Great. Now I’m even more worried. Thanks for that.”  
     “Oh, you’re very welcome.” T’Challa says with a grin, opening the door.

     Queen Ramonda is already seated, though she rises to greet them. “You’re finally here. Come sit,” she tells her children, and then turns to their guest. “And you must be Sam Wilson.”  
     He nods, bowing his head in respect. “It’s an honor to meet you, Your Highness."

     Her eyes crinkle at the corners. Unlike Shuri, she does not trust easily, and had hesitations about bringing him to the palace, but seeing him here, she’s set more at ease. Above all else, she can see how glad her children are that he survived under their care, and it does her heart good to see them happy, especially so soon after all the upheaval that came with the crowning of her son. "Do yourself a favor,” she says kindly, "and only listen to about half of what Shuri tells you, and even less of what T’Challa says, and you’ll be just fine.”

     Sam laughs in disbelief, taking his seat while the rest of the royals splutter indignantly around him. What a perfect way to end the day. Forgetting about the utensils, he digs into the finger foods with relish, and counts dinner as a success.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edit: Some of you cool cats are coming back and leaving me comments on the second chapter after you've already done so on the first and it is making my LIFE! I can't wait to write more of this.


	3. Chapter 3

     While the Wilson household’s dining table had always been a place of laughter and tears, that of T’Challa and his family is one of warmth and restrained teasing. Sam, who had been terrified of saying the wrong thing, realizes that he’s as comfortable here as he was in his own home. Of course, he has a thousand questions, and has to restrain himself somewhat (if only because he thinks he’ll get more comprehensive answers from Shuri later because she likes to brag about her home and her country), but that doesn’t stop him from enjoying the company and the food. Queen Ramonda asks Sam about his own upbringing, his views on the world, and how he plans to proceed in life.

     “Pardon me if I say I have no clue, Your Highness. I honestly thought I was gonna be dead by now, and unless you kick me out, I’m not in any particular hurry to leave. I mean— my family’s well taken care of, but I don’t have much of a purpose right now, I guess. I’d like to change that, but knowing what I know of Wakanda now, I’m not sure how I fit into the picture.”

     It’s a brutally honest reply, if only because it feels like he’s being tested. He doesn’t want to overstep his bounds, since he’s technically here by invitation (and not a unanimous one at that), and he also doesn’t want to be a freeloader. But what do you do for a king who has everything, a queen who is untouchable, a genius princess who probably has the intellect of every other person in the room combined?

     The Queen smiles slightly. “You will find your path, Mister Wilson. I feel this to be true.”

     “Sam, please. Mister Wilson was my dad, and—” _he’s been gone a long, long time,_ Sam nearly says, only to clamp his mouth shut. T’Challa and Shuri have just lost their own father, and it wouldn’t be appropriate. He shoots T’Challa a remorseful look, and is surprised when one of the king’s hands gently finds his shoulder.

     “I grieve with you,” T’Challa murmurs. Shuri and Queen Ramonda echo the words to him, and Sam finds himself unexpectedly emotional.

     “I… thanks. I grieve with you too.” It feels off, like there are some ritual words he should have known to say, but the smiles he gets in response ease his worry. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up painful thoughts at the dinner table or anything. My father was a great man, and from what I’ve heard, yours was too.”

     “He still is,” T’Challa says with a smile. “Through the power of Bast, I have seen him even after he departed from this world, for through the Black Panther, we are connected.”

     “And you’re gonna brag about that until the day you follow him, we know, we know.” Shuri deftly breaks the tension, answering her brother’s slight scowl with a sweet grin. “Oh, speaking of bragging, I was able to do something incredible yesterday.” 

     There’s a groan from the other two royals, well aware of where this conversation is heading, but Sam just laughs. “You mean _other_ than saving my life?”

     “ _That_ was child’s play.”

     “I’m hurt!”

     “You _were_. No longer. Now as I was saying…”

     Conversation returns to safer topics, and Sam listens intently to Shuri as she babbles on about her new advances in the nanoparticles woven into the Black Panther suit. Given the wearer, everyone pays attention, even though Sam catches T’Challa rolling his eyes at his sister more than once as she gets thoroughly carried away. Even Queen Ramonda eventually tires of it, cutting off the chatter to ask for dessert to be brought out.

     Shuri gives up her technobabble for her passionfruit pudding cake, and the meal ends in peace. Afterwards, T’Challa offers a brief tour, still conscious of how ill Sam has been, and takes the other man’s arm once again. Sam sighs internally, trying desperately not to think about where they were touching, and determinedly avoids Shuri’s gaze. She sticks her tongue out at him, as comfortable as if they’d been lifelong friends, and goes off to her lab to work.

     T’Challa takes him through the palace, trusting first and foremost that his own people will keep their mouths shut about their new visitor for now, and shows him the views of the city, where the legends were born, the statue of Bast that brought the five kingdoms together. (He does not show Sam where the heart-shaped herb grew, where he saw his father for the last time, where he was challenged to a death match by his cousin. Those things, perhaps, will come in time.) Sam takes in most of it wordlessly, asking only a few scattered questions about the history of the place and about how T’Challa feels about being king.

     “It is too much work,” is the joking response to the latter. “I have always been conscious of how I was seen, as the Crown Prince, but it is even worse now. Restaurants advertise that they have served me lunch once— it’s all very silly.”

     Underlying it is a weariness that Sam wishes he could take away. He knows this burden well, has seen it weigh on Steve’s shoulders just as it does on T’Challa’s, and there’s little he can do about it. Instead, he offers a smile. “Hey, they just want to brag that they have the best looking customers, that’s all. Once they’ve had you, it’s all downhill from there, right?”

     T’Challa’s eyes light up with mirth. “They have not served you yet.”

     Sam’s eyebrows rise, his mouth parting in a little ‘o’ of surprise. Suddenly, he finds himself unable to say a word.

     “Perhaps that was insensitive of me. I did not mean to make you uncomfortable, my friend.”

     Sam exhales in something akin to a laugh, cutting off T’Challa’s backtracking. “No, no, you just… caught me off guard, that’s all. I’m usually better at banter than this.” _When I’m not moony eyed over someone, that is… and when that person isn’t royalty, maybe…_

     “I know,” the other replies, still smiling. “I’ve seen you with my sister.”

     “She’s a… am I allowed to say that she’s a handful? Holy shit.”

     “She is significantly more than that. And she has taken a liking to you, which will only make it worse for you.”

     “Of course.” Sam laughs, looking up at the sky (anywhere but T’Challa’s face, because this is safe conversation and he’s gorgeous and Sam needs to _focus_ goddammit). “I’m not complaining, really. Even if she hadn’t been the one that saved my life, she reminds me a lot of my own kid sister. So much energy, so much drive… I’m glad she’s got something to put it all into, and she’s charming most of the time.”

     “Don’t let her hear you say it. It’ll go straight to her head. She has enough of an ego already.” The king shakes head fondly, and then tightens his grip on Sam’s arm. “As much as I hate to interrupt, I should be showing you to your rooms. You are still recovering and need rest.”

     Sam is tempted to protest, but his energy level is flagging. He’s usually pretty good at hiding it, so he wonders if T’Challa is just unusually perceptive or simply saying so out of obligation. Still, he nods and lets himself be led away. The walk to the guest quarters is quiet, and while the American misses the banter, he finds the silence to be just as comfortable. There is little need to dissemble, and he readily leans on T’Challa on the way up the stairs. The king, in turn, makes the tour of the quarters as brief as possible, and promises to stop by tomorrow to see how he’s doing. Sam nods gratefully, and he closes the door between them with just a touch of regret.

      _Like a schoolboy with a crush,_ he bemoans mentally, shaking free of the thought that he’s already missing the other man. Methodically, he strips, takes a hot shower, slips into a fresh pair of pajamas that have been laid out for him, and finds his way under the covers.

     The last thought that goes through his head is that T’Challa is uncommonly expressive for the role of a stoic king. He falls asleep thinking of the other man’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this took me an age and a half! Physical health troubles and mental health troubles and my own issues with dealing with the MCU made me wander off for a while BUT GUESS WHO'S BACK! I really did want to get this update done sooner, but thank you SO SO much for those who have been patient with me. I can't believe how many of you are following this work! I hope it's living up to your expectations. (Also I need to go back and rewatch Black Panther because oh my god, I love these characters SO MUCH. I hope I'm keeping them IC.)

**Author's Note:**

> Comments? Feedback? I'd love to hear it! Drop me a line either here or on my tumblr!


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